


Tiger Tales

by hotchoco195



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Collection, Gen, Humor, Jungle, Minor Character Death, Mostly fun with one really angsty section, Odd scenes I thought up, POV Sebastian Moran, Tigers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of very short pieces about Sebastian and tigers. Some crazy AU, some cute Seb & Jim stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiger Tales

**1.**

Sebastian learns to use a gun with the family heirlooms in Father’s study, lining up fluffy-tailed rabbits and pheasant down the barrel. It’s the one thing he and his father almost agree on, and when they’ve got nothing else to talk about they can always take a walk through the grounds and shoot something together quietly.

He’s the best in the special ops unit with a rifle but he’ll still never be as good as Sir Augustus. The gun for Sebastian is an extension of himself, a part he can feel and understand just as much as his own limbs. For the older Moran there is no gun; he simply points and destroys with perfect synchronicity.

Perhaps that’s why Sebastian takes up hunting on his days off, to remind himself of home. He waits patiently amongst the trees, sweat trailing down the side of his face and hands slippery on the rifle, always planning that perfect shot. A flash of stripes catches his eye and he grins. The tiger’s head will look good above the family mantel.

 

**2.**

Sebastian glances at the clock again. “Jim, it’s time to eat!”

“Sod off, buttercup!” he calls from the study.

“You haven’t had anything since breakfast yesterday. You have to eat.”

Jim doesn’t reply. Sebastian slams down his spatula and walks to the study door, glaring at his boss.

“Whatever is so ruddy important, I’m sure it can wait five minutes.”

Jim scowls back. “I say it can’t.”

“You’re going to have some dinner even if I have to force feed it to you.”

His eyes narrow but Sebastian’s mouth stays firm, and eventually Jim throws his hand up.

“Fine! Dish a plate and I’ll be there in a minute.”

“ _One_ minute. Then I’m coming in to get you.”

He strides back to the kitchen and scoops the soup into two bowls, placing Jim’s on the table beside him as he digs in. His eyes flick back to the clock every few seconds, but with one and half to spare Jim walks in with a playful grin.

“Thank you Tigger.”

Sebastian’s eye flash but he’s got a mouthful of stew and can’t reply. Jim sits, spoon wafting through his meal idly.

“Say, I forget to tell you Christopher Robin stopped by earlier.”

“Ha ha.”

“What’s so funny, Tigger?”

“It’s _Tiger_.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Well what did I say then?”

He bats his lashes innocently and Sebastian sticks out his jaw, taking another spoonful. Jim starts humming under his breath, still not eating as he plays with the rim of the bowl. Sebastian’s spoon stops halfway to his mouth as his boss starts singing quietly.

“Oh the wonderful thing about tiggers is tiggers are wonderful things-”

“Jim.” He says warningly.

“-Their tops are made of rubber, their bottoms are made out of springs-”

“Jim!”

“They’re bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy-”

Sebastian surges out of his chair, both bowls shattering on the floor as he drags Jim over the edge of the table by his collar. The criminal laughs.

“Shut up or I will clobber you rotten!”

“What, you disagree? I thought bouncing was what tiggers do best.”

**3.**

He’s running through the black rainy streets with his head down and his gun case in hand, skipping over low walls and taking corners too fast. Sebastian swears at the water pouring down his back, cursing himself as ten thousand kinds of idiot. He glances behind carefully. The street’s empty but that means nothing in this chase.

His feet pound along the cement, splashing through puddles or leaping over them nimbly. All he’s got left is adrenaline and his own body and for a second there’s a euphoric feeling that this is how it should be, this is how it always was before things got complicated. Then he rounds the corner and is brought up short by a crowbar to the face.

Sebastian stumbles and the metal hits him behind the knees, bringing him down. He’s drawing the gun from his shoulder holster when a long curved blade presses against his throat.

“Tsk tsk, Tiger. I’m awfully disappointed in you.”

“Jim, please-”

“Hush.”

He instantly closes his mouth, too well-trained to try again. Jim’s elegant suit is drenched, his shoes covered in alley muck as he crouches over his second-in-command, thumb rubbing the hilt of the knife.

“I really thought we had something special. An _exclusive_ relationship.”

“We do!”

“Then how is it you just tried to steal from me?”

 _Because I didn’t have a choice_. But Jim’s got that fierce look in his eyes, the half-mad one that always set Sebastian on edge. Now is not the time for explanations that will be tossed aside; now is the time to abandon pride and guts in favour of begging.

“Jim, you know I’ve been nothing but loyal. I’ve saved your life dozens of times, and I would never want anything to happen to you. I had my reasons, believe me, but it was never personal-”

Jim leans in, blade cutting just enough to break the skin. “Did you ever hear the story of Shere Khan, Sebastian?”

The hairs on his neck stand up at those creeping, velvety tones. Outside the lightning flashes but the alley has narrowed down to nothing but two pinpricks of darkness in Jim’s eyes.

“What?” Sebastian splutters out, “Like the Jungle Book?”

“The very same. Do you know the moral, Colonel?”

A hot, jagged blade bites into Sebastian’s stomach. He gasps, grasping at Jim’s wrist but he can’t stop the sideways drag of the second knife.

Jim’s voice is barely more than a whisper but it swells with satisfaction. “All wicked tigers get their end.”

**4.**

“Absolutely not.”

“Sebby, I have to practice. It’s part of the job.”

“No. Get one of the others to help you.”

“Sebaaastiannnn, don’t be tiresome.”

“You’re not bloody painting my face Jim!”

His boss pouts, hair ruffled adorably, arms swinging at his side. He could keep arguing, but eventually Jim will get his way even if he has to drug Sebastian and tie him down to do it. The sniper closes his eyes and sighs.

“Fine. But no glitter, no butterflies, no pink.”

Jim grabs his arm and drags him over to the dining table, making him sit as he opens his paints.

“Don’t worry honey,” he dips a sponge in the orange, “I know just the thing.”

 

**5.**

John struggles against his captors’ grip as much as possible, willing to risk their ire for the slimmest chance of breaking free. Sherlock knows there’s no point, choosing instead to gather as much data as possible whatever happens next. His eyes sweep the house as they’re led inside, the white wood panelled halls and palatial high ceilings. Every object speaks of good taste and functionality, nothing too gaudy, nothing too personal. They’re brought to a pair of mahogany doors and John tries another lunge. The lackey holding him scowls.

“Stop that.”

“Tell us who you work for and what we’re doing here then!” John snaps.

“I know where we are,” Sherlock drawls “The question is why.”

The leader of their group opens both doors, stepping onto what looks like a balcony but it actually the landing for a set of stone steps.

“Boss?”

“Bring them down.”

John pales at the familiar voice. “Moriarty?”

“Who else?” Sherlock shrugs.

They’re led down the stairs carefully. A storey below them Jim sits in what looks like an indoor grotto, huge trees filling the room. His bench is next to a large pool fed by an artificial waterfall flowing over the rocks. It’s humid, but not unpleasantly so. He pats his knees as they reach his seat and grins.

“Well now! Always good to have guests. Were they much trouble?”

The leader jerks a thumb at John. “ _He_ was.”

“I expected nothing less. Thank you, gentlemen.”

The flunkies head back upstairs, and if Sherlock’s not mistaken they look afraid of something. Jim, perhaps? He doesn’t seem as scary as usual though in his polo shirt and jeans.

“You know if you wanted some company you could have just asked.”

Jim laughs. “Would you have come?”

“Try it and see.”

“What’s going on here?” John demands.

Jim raises a brow at him. “Well, Johnny, despite my warnings and advice and _tolerance_ , Sherly here saw fit to interfere with a very _large_ , very important project.”

“You shouldn’t have made it so easy.”

Jim’s smile gets a fraction chillier. “You should listen when people try to help you.”

“So what, you’re going to kill us for real this time?” John huffs, “Did you have us dragged all this way just to pull the trigger yourself?”

“Not me personally. Sebastian!”

There’s a rustling behind them and John and Sherlock both turn, the doctor wary, the detective interested. The thick foliage of the nearest trees parts and an enormous orange and black beast slinks out, rumbling quietly.

 “Jesus!” John yells.

“Oh you _would_ have a tiger in the middle of London.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

Jim smirks. “Adds a touch of panache, don’t you think?”

“If you were a Bond villain maybe.”

“Would you two please stop fighting like children!” John explodes, twitching as he gets an answering snarl from the tiger.

 

“Come to Daddy, Sebastian.” Jim clicks a finger.

The pair stiffen as he trots over, but the cat ignores both of them in favour of curling at Jim’s feet and licking his hand.

John laughs hollowly. “This is insane.”

“So Sebby here is going to rip you limb from limb, and that should be the end of our little territory dispute shouldn’t it?” Jim scratches his fluffy chin.

“I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming, having a nightmare, this will go away as soon as I wake up-”

“Don’t be dull, John.” Sherlock sighs.

“Excuse me if being mauled to death by a tiger isn’t my idea of a good time!”

Sherlock meets Jim’s hungry gaze. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

“You don’t care about John, and you care too much about me to consider this an appropriate end to our game. There’s no finesse to it – it’s literally brute savagery.”

“But it will be so much fun!” Jim whines.

“We’ll settle this some other way. Let John leave now and I’ll do anything you want.”

“Sherlock, no!”

“Quiet.”

Jim looks thoughtful for a moment, stroking his pet’s head as he drums his fingers against his chin. Sherlock holds his breath and watches patiently, while John’s eyes are locked on the wide amber ones staring back at him from a huge stripey face.

“No, I like my plan better. Sebastian, attack!”

John whirls around for some kind of weapon as the cat springs to its paws. In one bound he’s on top of Sherlock, flattening the slender man under his bulk.

“Sherlock!” John screams.

“John? Uh, John, it’s alright, he’s uh...he’s just licking my face.”

“He’s what?”

Sherlock turns his head, both cheeks covered in saliva as Sebastian nuzzles at his ear. John stares, completely gobsmacked, and looks at Jim. The little Irishman dissolves into giggles.

“Sorry darlings, I couldn’t resist. Let’s talk about that deal, Sherly.”

John promptly faints, and Sebastian tilts his head curiously before padding over to lick him too.

“He doesn’t seem very fierce.” Sherlock struggles to his feet.

Jim makes an incredulous face. “Well of course not darling. What kind of maniac do you think I am?”


End file.
